


leia hand on me (the woo-key to my heart)

by strangeparties



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Conventions, M/M, Meet-Cute, alternatively titled: thank you arthur, eliott is han solo, it's a star wars convention, it's a very dumb fic and now i must unleash it onto the world, lucas is a low budget princess leia and it's all arthur's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 18:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeparties/pseuds/strangeparties
Summary: Eliott’s walking around Hall B practically missing a limb. He’s supposed to be part of a set: Han and Leia or nothing. Good thing Lucas is there too alongside Arthur as one-half of the Skywalker twins - and he isn’t the one with the lightsaber.or: a dashing han solo meets a budget princess leia at a star wars convention.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 17
Kudos: 173





	leia hand on me (the woo-key to my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> entirely inspired by arthur’s instagram weebery (wbk guys). written in one night, just to get the idea out of my system. happy holidays! x

It’s official: Lucas hated his life, his choices, and his friends.

To be precise, one particular, smug bitch of a friend.

.

This mess all started because, after a truly riveting game of _Truth or Dare_ with the gang, he’d been dumb enough to drunkenly confess to taking multiple-choice OkCupid personality assessment tests when he was bored or lonely, answering questions like “Would a nuclear Holocaust be exciting?” (it’s a no from him) and “What’s your Hogwarts House?” (Slytherin, obviously) as a way to assuage the sting of perpetual singlehood.

Lucas was a little surprised to find his best friends nodding empathically instead of laughing their asses off, each having had their own difficulties with dating. He further shared that he’d attributed his dating failures to generic incompatibility and the inestimable shortcomings of guys in general. Per Yann, sweet and ever supportive, his non-existent love life was maybe not a quantitative issue but a qualitative one.

“What do you feel when you imagine going on a first date with a guy?’ he said.

“Dread,” Lucas answered without thinking. “But that’s normal.”

Yann shook his head. “Nervousness is normal. Not dread.”

Lucas shrugged. He'd never given it any deep thought, to be honest. "It's not a big deal. And a lot of guys aren't as interesting as they'd like to think. I get anxious pre-date but then it just fizzles out into boredom during the date proper." 

“You could try something new,” Bas piped up in a rare moment of drunken lucidity, “like speed dating. Or setting up an anonymous sex account on twitter with headless nude videos.”

“… That escalated quickly,” Yann said after a somewhat ominous silence. Bas really had the unmatched talent of fucking the atmosphere up in any given situation. “How the hell do you go from speed dating to headless nudes?”

Before Lucas could get _that_ disturbing notion out of his head (he didn’t want to dwell on the implications of why, out of all people, it’s Bas who brought that up), Arthur sat up like a firecracker had exploded under his ass.

“Or. I mean. Speaking of trying something new.” Beneath his glasses, Arthur’s eyes sparkled with unhinged glee. Like he’d just had an _opening_. “You could go with me to the Convention.”

Yann and Bas shared a look before obnoxious guffaws bubbled out their throats.

Meanwhile, Lucas was just plain confused. What convention?

“Hey, no worries. You’ve been so preoccupied with thesis that you probably haven’t heard me going on about it.” Arthur tilted his head towards Bas and Yann with a slanted smile. “And it’s not like Lando or Han here could go, anyway. Thanks a lot for that, by the way. You two are the _best_ for scheduling your respective summer family vacations at the exact same time when I said the Convention would be.”

Ah, the Star Wars Convention. Lucas may have heard him mention it, oh, maybe around a hundred times in the span of a month. He just feigned ignorance because it wasn’t really his thing, and like Arthur said, his focus had been elsewhere for the majority of the time.

Now, Lucas was maybe what you’d call a casual fan. He knew the movies and the characters. He was far from an Arthur-level devotee, though. Arthur probably spent a considerable amount of time lurking around Star Wars subreddits and arguing with equally dedicated fans about whether Kylo Ren the Space Nazi deserved a redemption arc and debating the merits of _The Last Jedi_.

He said as much. “Bah, you know me. Not really into that whole scene.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, looking like he held the ace that would have Lucas folding like a house of cards. “You owe me. Remember that one time, with that one guy you were trying to get off your back—“

“Fuck, why’d you have to bring that up?” Lucas groaned.

He’d really rather not remember how he’d asked Arthur to pretend to be his fake boyfriend and fake makeout with him. It was all a ploy to get rid of his annoying-as-shit coursemate who made gross moon eyes at him anytime Lucas was within a few yards from the guy's general vicinity. (Sue him, Yann skipped town that time and it’s not like he’d want to dredge up buried feelings by kissing his erstwhile crush.) It was so bad that it got to a point where Lucas would _squirm_ at the thought of the guy being within a five-foot radius.

So they staged a makeout, which went about as successfully as anyone could imagine. Lucas wished it would never happen again.

Arthur wasn’t bad to look at by any means, but his mouth tasted like onion rings and stale beer. Lucas probably didn't taste like honey and mint either that night. So he doubted that Arthur would be raring for a repeat anytime soon. Or ever. 

What made it worse — and why Lucas was so easily guilt-tripped — was Arthur lost a potential date with a very nice girl from one his electives because of their little fakeout makeout. He’d go on to ignore Lucas for a week. They made up when Arthur realized he was being a petty, immature bitch for no reason. Still, the damage had been done.

“Yeah, so you do remember. What do you say?”

“Ugh. Fine, fine,” Lucas grumbled.

Arthur smiled, triumphant.

Two days later, Arthur showed Lucas the costume. Under normal circumstances, Lucas would never be caught dead in _that_. But of course, Arthur knew how to play his cards right, reminding Lucas of his drunken commitments. And this time, he had the barely veiled threat of another annoying week where Lucas would have to endure Arthur’s less-than-subtle jabs at him being a flake with zero follow-through on his promises.

So in the end, Arthur didn’t just win the battle. He’d won the entire fucking war.

.

“Wow, I'm never getting drunk ever again,” Lucas groused, wishing he could retroactively punch his past, drunk, _stupid as fuck_ self into sweet oblivion as he and Arthur walked through the sweaty masses, flanked on all sides by yelling teenagers and glowing lightsabers.

Arthur hummed beside him, cool as a cucumber in his contacts, crisp white karate shirt, pressed khaki pants, and plastic Toys R Us blue lightsaber. He looked like an absolute dumbfuck and Lucas couldn’t wait to chuck him off a cliff.

But the dumbfuck beside him was an easy, breezy, budget Luke Skywalker, which was way more than anyone could say for Lucas’s wig (those two bun things on the side of his head were _heavy_ , what the fuck) and makeshift white hybrid cape-dress made entirely out of old bedsheets strategically stitched to convey the illusion of womanly curves. A thread out of place and he might as well look like a floating ghost Sailormoon, albeit brunette. And with fake boobs. And a _really_ bad itch.

(“You’re conflating two entirely different characters,” Arthur tutted like Lucas was entirely shameful for _not_ knowing this shit, when Lucas had said his wig reminded him of Sailormoon. “For one, Sailormoon is _blonde _.”__

 _ _“__ They’re both galactic warriors,” Lucas huffed in defense. Clearly, Arthur didn’t appreciate parallels.

“Hey, at least it isn’t the Slave Leia costume.”

“You mean,” Lucas responded dryly, “thank fuck you don’t hate me _that_ much.”)

Lucas scratched viciously at his inner thigh, ignoring a pimply kid looking downright scandalized to his left. What, he’d never seen Princess _fucking_ Leia with Boba Fett manners? “And I’m fucking itchy. Are you sure this isn’t some shit you ordered from Alibaba instead of old bed sheets? I swear there’s something sentient crawling down my legs.”

Arthur, the good friend he is, doesn’t deign to acknowledge Lucas’s misery. “Hmm. The crowd isn’t that bad this year.”

Lucas scoffed as Arthur led the way through the mess of people to find their way into Convention Hall B. Above them, a large banner read STAR WARS PARIS CONVENTION 2021. A booming voice could be heard over a loud speaker, announcing the Cosplay Competition in five hours.

Lucas knew the foot traffic was overwhelming at these events, but he’d underestimated just how much people there would be. People were fucking everywhere. People in Darth Vader costumes lugging heavy lightsabers. People in Jedi gear miming being force-choked by Siths in elaborate face paint. Small kids (and a disturbing number of adults) in Baby Yoda cosplay carried around or otherwise held by surly, hulking Mandalorians. It was insanity.

And Arthur was loving it. Lucas, meanwhile, prayed for the apocalypse to strike. In the span of thirty minutes, he'd counted at least two Han Solos, three Lando Calrissians, and a Jar Jar _motherfucking_ Binks “accidentally” bumping into his fake boobs.

__

__._ _

__

He’d been minding his own business, going with Arthur around the exhibits and watching him excitedly buy things from the stalls. Lucas didn’t care for a lot of it, but when he came across a stand dedicated to all things Baby Yoda, he stuck around for a while. Yes, he was one of the many suckers for a cute Baby Yoda plush toy, what about it?

Arthur had then decided to leave him for "a bit" (which was Arthur-speak for "maybe close to two hours") to check out the panels, leaving Lucas all by his lonesome. Good thing, though, because he was getting pretty tired from posing for pictures with con-goers who’d tell him his makeup was “on point” (it was just Arthur’s mom’s concealer under his eyes and clear gloss; he'd keel over before putting anything on his eyelids or cheeks) and his costume was “pretty good.” Lucas was a thousand-percent sure they’re being ironic and he’d find photos of him and Arthur on twitter tagged #SkywalkerTwinsLowCostCosplay #LMFAO when he searched the convention tag.

And this would, of course, be the moment when he’d bump into the hottest Han Solo to ever grace the Convention Hall. His hair was styled in a neat wave, and his legs were encased in fitted navy pants that looked sinful on long legs. This _had_ to be illegal.

“I — sorry,” hot Han Solo said when he bumped into Lucas, blatant and heavy and pressed up against Lucas’s shoulder. When he turned, the blaster attached to his holster momentarily dug into Lucas’s side. “Oh, you’re a Leia.”

When he looked down at Lucas with a blinding smile, the moment seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Lucas could’ve sworn the guy was a matinee idol; for a guy in costume, he was ridiculously good-looking. It would almost be rude _not_ to stare at him.

“Uh, yeah. I’m a Leia. And you’re a Han. We’re a pair.”

Lucas’s higher brain functions always went out the window when god-tier hot guys were in front of him. Which wasn’t very often, admittedly. A personal milestone, really, how he managed to sound dumb as rocks. It was entirely commensurate to both his Physics degree (science nerds weren’t known for their dating prowess, nevermind gay science nerds) and his relative inexperience in love.

Hot Han’s looking at him like he knew everything Lucas was thinking. Which he honestly hadn’t been thinking a few seconds ago, and probably shouldn’t be thinking now, about what would happen if he just leaned in—

“That we are. We’d make a pretty good one, don’t you think? I’ve actually been looking for a Leia since I got here. There’s a lot of Leias, actually, but most of them already have a Han Solo or a Luke with them. Walking around the Hall without Leia’s like missing a limb,” Hot Han said, still cracking that high-beam grin. It looked roguish, a lot like the real Han Solo, and Lucas was pretty sure he was going to die.

“Your costume looks pretty high-end, though. Mine are just like, old IKEA bedsheets, no thanks to my twin,” Lucas said before he could stop himself. Well, might as well run with whatever this interaction was shaping up to be. If he was going to die at a nerd convention in a cheap Princess Leia costume, might as well die in a hot Han Solo’s arms.

Hot Han cocked an eyebrow. “You mean there’s two cute guys in Leia cosplay attending the con?”

Despite his reservations, Lucas found himself hastily biting at his lower lip to keep from smiling. “I meant Luke. My friend — he went as Luke. And he abandoned me to check out the panels. Some great hero he is, that guy.”

“In that case, you can take me up on the offer to be my Leia. Wouldn’t want the Princess of Alderaan wandering around alone in a great big hall,” he said, and although he was outwardly smooth, there was a pinch of nervousness in his tone. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, and Lucas was thoroughly and inexplicably charmed. “Uh, that is, if you want to?”

“To that, I’d say: First off, Princess Leia is a badass who doesn’t need a man. And second, yeah, sure. Why not. Beats sidestepping Jabba The Hutt over there,” Lucas tilted his head towards a lurking pot-bellied guy in a Jabba the Hutt costume leering in his direction. “He’s been staring for the last ten minutes and it’s starting to creep me out, so. Yeah, I’d say going with you wouldn’t be so bad a prospect. Can I get a name, though? Like, an actual one instead of Han Solo?”

Hot Han laughed. “It’s Eliott. And you, princess?”

Lucas rolled his eyes, feeling impossibly fond from just a few words. God, what the fuck was up with this guy. “Lucas. And please, do not call me Princess or I’ll have to shoot you with your own blaster.”

.

He and Eliott had made it about halfway across the massive convention space, stopping every so often to marvel at other people’s costumes or comment on the merchandise, when they suddenly heard a high-pitched squeal and a cry of, “Look at that cute Han and Leia!”

“Brace yourself.” Eliott had quickly reached out and stopped Lucas in his tracks. Lucas yelped in mild surprise. When he looked up at Eliott, he looked more than a little nervous. “I’ve been going to these things long enough to know what that means.”

Lucas was relatively new to it all, and he’d told Eliott as much. There had been people asking for photos when he was with Arthur, but it wasn’t much. As the hours rolled by and more cosplayers went into the hall with better costumes, portraying their chosen characters with much more fidelity than Lucas’s and Arthur’s low-rent costumes ever could, the people asking for photos also dwindled.

(And thank fuck for that, because Arthur told him he’d been prepared to reenact the Luke and Leia kiss at the end of Empire Strikes Back for the sake of con photos. It was a small relief that everyone they’d encountered so far was decidedly not into twincest.)

So he didn’t expect to be _swarmed_ within the next few seconds with phones and cameras.

“Hi, we’re sorry to stop you, but can we get your picture? I was just telling my friends how you guys are the cutest Han and Leia in Hall B. You have the height difference down, for one,” said the designated spokesperson of the group, a woman carrying several bags full of posters and merchandise.

Lucas was about to snidely comment that she clearly hadn’t gone around the Hall enough if she thought he qualified as anything close to the “cutest” Leia, but Eliott had a different idea.

“If it’s just a few shots. And besides, I can’t argue with you. I do have the privilege of being with the best-looking Leia in the entire con.” Eliott glanced over at Lucas with a winning smile. Lucas was maybe imagining the hopeful tone, but he hadn’t been thinking straight for a few moments now.

Scratch that — every single time Eliott would brush his arm, coming tantalisingly close, moving in a frankly distracting way — he hadn’t been able to think straight since he agreed to walk with Eliott.

But what did “a few shots” mean? Ugh. Before he could clarify, Lucas wilted under the force of Eliott’s puppy dog eyes. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Eliott maneuvered Lucas in front of the cameras, sliding around him, wrapping his arm around Lucas’s waist. For his part, Lucas focused on steadying his breath and trying not to look as lovestruck as he felt. Not as easy as it sounded in his head.

The same girl interrupted his train of thought, piping up sheepishly, “Um, sorry— but we were wondering if you two could do a special pose for us?”

“Special… pose?” Lucas asked, confused.

Impossibly warm next to him, Eliott didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. In fact, he looked like he expected it.

The group of girls glanced at each other in silent conversation. Then one spoke up, giving them a hopeful smile.

“We were hoping you could do… you know. The scoundrel kiss. If you’re both okay with it, that is. No pressure,” she tacked on quickly.

Lucas went stiff. _Oh, no. Fuck. What?_

“Well,” Eliott began mock contemplatively, turning to Lucas, “you could use a good kiss.”

“Um,” Lucas stuttered. Eliott’s eyes were way too intense and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak properly. He vaguely recognized Eliott quoting a line from one of the movies, but. A kiss. A fucking kiss!

So he squeaked out the only thing his short-circuiting brain could come up with on short notice: “Okay?”

Barely a moment after he'd given his assent, Eliott pulled him closer, holding him down with a stare. He took Lucas’s hands in his own. “You’re trembling,” he said, entirely serious.

To the side, the girls screamed. “Oh my god, he’s _so_ committed. He’s saying the lines!”

Lucas gulped, because he was shaking a little bit. He’s surprised he hasn’t been rendered catatonic at the sound of Eliott’s husky, breathy voice saying freaking Han Solo quotes to his face with a smouldering look more fit for a paperback romance novel cover than a con photo.

“I— I’m not trembling,” he managed, hazily recalling the scene. Maybe those movies were more memorable than he thought.

Eliott leaned in. He stopped just out of reach, his nose not quite brushing Lucas’s, close enough to feel it when he lets out a breath. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

Okay, this was the moment when Lucas absolutely could not, for the life of him, remember what line was next. So he improvised, a little fiercely: “I happen to think I’m more of a scoundrel than you are. No, not just think — I know I am.”

Eliott’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead, but he was grinning that rakish grin again. He laughed, delighted, into the tiny space between them. Lucas felt the rest of the world melt away.

“Oh, really?” Eliott challenged, his face one of pure provocation.

“Yeah. And I can prove it.” Lucas went on his tiptoes and closed the gap.

Lucas wasn’t sure if this was in the movie, the way Eliott groaned into his mouth, and Lucas just opened up and took it. Eliott kissed like he meant it, and so Lucas kissed back, deep and slow and maybe a little too dirty for a con photo. He let one hand sink into Eliott’s hair, mussing it up until he was certain he’d left it in wild disarray, then rubbed his thumb over Eliott’s cheek.

“Oh my god, they’re really going for it,” Lucas heard one of the girls gasp. “I don’t think even Carrie and Harrison’s kiss was that hot.”

“What was that line at the end, though?” one girl wondered out loud. 

Lucas couldn’t care less.

.

Lucas wouldn’t put it past Arthur to lord it over him. Two weeks later at a coffee shop two blocks away from Lucas’s apartment, his assessment proved accurate.

Eliott had come in through the sliding door looking picture-perfect. If he’d thought Eliott looked great in a Han Solo costume, his mind exploded into teeny tiny bits when he saw Eliott in ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Lucas sighed. _How was he so lucky?_

Yann had whooped, giving Eliott a high-five. Bas, never one for subtlety, had gaped as Eliott came into his field of vision and punched Lucas on the shoulder.

“Dude, what the fuck. He’s hot!” Bas said, shamelessly.

“You now owe me twice over.” Arthur crossed his arms as Eliott wandered over to his side, crowding up into Lucas’s space, slinging an arm around his neck to tug him in for a quick kiss. “Who knew being budget Leia was actually gonna do you good? I just thought I’d get blackmail photos out of it, honestly. And like, an embarrassing photo slideshow when you eventually get married.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, shook his head, and flipped a half-hearted bird towards a laughing Arthur.

Eliott leaned forward with an excited gleam in his eye. “Can you send me all the photos? I’d love to get a headstart on that wedding slideshow…”

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to yell at on me on tumblr over at @pinkplanetaries ☺️


End file.
